


To Live Would Be An Awfully Big Adventure

by livy_bear



Series: Living is an Awfully Big Adventure [1]
Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Arya Stark Has Feelings, Canon Compliant, Engagement, F/M, Found Family, Gen, Happy Ending, Not Canon Compliant, but also?? kind of, good communication, no graphic depictions of violence but arya does threaten people
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-26
Updated: 2020-01-26
Packaged: 2021-02-27 07:14:05
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,936
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22413043
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/livy_bear/pseuds/livy_bear
Summary: What if the little girl Arya tried to save in Kings Landing didn't run back to her mother? What if the Baratheon forces were just outside of the city, too late to help?Arya doesn't leave on the boat, and instead chooses to heal, love, and build her family back up. Starting from the moment she wakes up and finds the white horse.
Relationships: Arya Stark/Gendry Waters
Series: Living is an Awfully Big Adventure [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1669792
Comments: 15
Kudos: 159





	To Live Would Be An Awfully Big Adventure

Arya Stark woke up amidst the ash and the smoke of Kings Landing with a start. She felt like her lungs were full of the dust that covered everything around her, and like every bone in her body must be broken since it ached so. She began to sit up and turned to see the young blonde girl curled just to her side. Safe. The girl coughed when Arya moved, and slowly woke up herself. She wasn’t nearly as in as bad of shape, but she didn’t look well.

Arya remembered the girl’s mother’s desperate cries to “take her” as the dragon swooped down overhead. For a moment, she thought the girl would wriggle free and doom herself to be burned alive, but Arya kept hold. Somehow she had kept a tight hold of this girl, who she spent nearly the whole day running into over and over it seemed. Arya wasn’t sure if she believed in destiny or fate, but Death didn’t ask for this girl.

Not today.

The girl took in the street and let out a cry for her mother, running into the ashy ruins of the people just trying to escape. Her mother was indistinguishable from any other bodies, but the girl seemed to find one near enough to where she had fallen. She wasn’t crying. Somehow. The girl looked like someone had taken hold of her heart and pulled it straight out of her body. The whole thing was happening just to the left of her, it couldn’t be her. Arya knew the feeling.

She walked over, dropping a hand to the girl’s shoulder before noticing…a horse? A horse. A white horse in the middle of this burnt, wretched city. Arya began to walk slowly towards it, calming the beast, and then turning back to the girl on the ground.

“Come on,” she said. Her voice was ragged from the smoke.

“My mother,” the girl said, eyes dropping back to the ashes. She couldn’t be more than nine years old.

“Do you have any other family left?” Arya asked. The girl shook her head. “Then come with me. My name is Arya Stark of Winterfell; I’ll keep you safe.”

The girl looked at her with sharp eyes, and seeming to decide she had nothing left to lose, stood, and made her way to the horse. She let Arya help her on to the saddle and climb on behind her. Together they rode quickly out of the city.

She wondered, if entering the city and surviving _again_ , finding a young girl paralleled to herself, were the gods way of laughing at her. For thinking she could so easily choose to die, when she had played and tested and chose _not_ to die so many times before. Laughing at her for seeking Death, facing it, and trying so hard to live while looking it in the eye. For throwing her name away. For picking it back up like she was the same.

In her defense, she truly believed that she was going to die in this city. At first it was going to be because she murdered Cersei, but when the Hound told her to live… she chose it. She chose life, in the Red Keep, one last time as she ran from it as fast as she could. And the city crumbled around her. This time there was no Night’s Watch to help her, no Hot Pie, no Lommy, no Gendry.

Except there could have been Gendry. If she had trusted him, if she had _told_ him, there was no doubt in her mind that he would have followed her same as he always had. Maybe that’s why she hadn’t said a thing, and rejected his marriage proposal. She didn’t want him to die like her, to give up the life he could have to follow her into another suicide. Arya couldn’t be his bride because she was already Death’s bride.

But, no, that wasn’t right. Because Arya Stark chose to live.

Arya had no particular destination in mind as she rode through the rubble. Find Jon, maybe. Find what might remain of any Northern forces. Ser Davos. But as soon as she made it out of the city walls, into the camp, and saw the banners posted to the southern side, instinct took over. Arya veered towards the blowing yellow banners, antlered helmets and breastplates. She rode towards the first Stormlander soldiers she saw, dismounting.

“You,” she called. Their hands moved to the hilt of their swords, but before they could prompt her, she continued. “I’m Arya of House Stark, a… friend to House Baratheon. Show me to your lord’s tent, I have important news for him.”

The men muttered ‘yes, milady’s and ‘follow us’ and led her through the Baratheon camp. The girl still sitting atop the horse, held tight to the reigns as she looked around the tents near them. Arya kept one eye on her the whole way there. The lord’s tent was the largest, most towards the center of the rest of the tents around it and there were two guards posted outside it with polearms.

“House Stark here for the bast—Lord Baratheon,” the soldier next to Arya said. She cut him a look, and watched him purposefully avoid her eye.

“I apologize, my lady,” the other guard responded, bringing her attention back. “But the lord’s just left with some bannermen to see about the city.”

Arya’s shoulders dropped a centimeter. So she should have stayed in the city, and found him and Jon there. But no, she couldn’t have done that either. She promised this girl she’d keep her safe, and continuing farther into Kings Landing would not have been right. The girl needed rest, washing, and a maester.

“Tell Lord Baratheon I’m here, when he returns,” Arya instructed, walking past the guards and into the tent. They shuffled in shock, moving just a bit too slow to stop her. She looked around, taking in the bed and rags for washing, but no water. She walked right back out to the horse, helping the girl down from it and into the tent again.

“Milady, you can’t just,—” the guard tried.

“You’ll find that I can,” she replied, turning to face him in the entry way. “Find us some suitable water for cleaning our wounds, and a maester for dressing them,” they didn’t move. “Now, please.”

The guards looked at each other before slowly moving to do as she said. Then Arya remembered, “Oh, and I don’t care whose men you are; if you ever mean to call Gendry a bastard or a ‘bastard lord’ again, I’ll gut you where you stand.”

At that, they were very quick to leave.

Arya turned back to the girl who was staring at her with wide eyes. “Can you _do_ that?” she asked.

“You can do whatever you want if you’re bold enough,” Arya replied. “Sit down on the bed, I want to clean you off.”

The water came in a basin quite quickly, and as soon as she had it, Arya began washing the girl’s face. Her clothes were a lost cause; so she stripped to her small clothes and Arya gave her one of Gendry’s shirts, pulled from his trunk to wear instead. The girl was mostly just dirty it seemed, with a little bit of a knock to the side of her head from falling in the last dragon blast, most likely.

“What’s your name?” Arya asked, wiping down the girl’s arms.

“Elenna.”

“No surname?”

“I’m a bastard.”

Arya nodded. “My favorite brother’s a bastard. So’s this lord’s tent we’re in.”

“Lord _Baratheon_?” Elenna frowned, glancing around.

“Newly legitimized by the Dragon Queen,” Arya smiled tightly. She seemed to take this in stride, though.

“Why did you save me?”

Arya stopped her work. “Because your mother asked me to, and because it was right.”

“Is that what Lord Baratheon would have done?” Elenna asked as Arya gestured for her to get under the furs to rest.

“Yes,” she felt a genuine smile curl her lip, steadfast in her answer, reminiscing for a moment on the boy who defended her before even knowing her. Gendry would never have hesitated, so she said so.

“Have you known him long?” Elenna tucked the furs around her body.

“I’ve known him since I was a child,” Arya answered. “I was in this very city, in a similar situation to you. Not the exact same, but similar.”

“What happened?”

“My father was executed by Joffrey,” saying it she watched Elenna’s eyes widen then lower like she was thinking, placing the name. She then looked back up at Arya, her eyes resolute.

“Thank you, milady,” Elenna said tiredly.

“I’m no lady,” she said. “Arya is fine.”

Elenna nodded and looked as if she might go to sleep. Arya turned back to the wash basin and began to clean herself off before a tiny voice interrupted her. “Arya?” she looked over. “I miss my mom.”

And oh. _Oh_. There were the tears that were missing before. The fear finally fading and the sorrow taking root. Elenna’s face crumpled and tore open like the sky during a rainstorm. She wept loudly and deeply. Arya didn’t know how to comfort her except in the vaguest ways she remembered of her mother in childhood. She sat on the edge of the bed and ran her fingers through the girl’s hair. She hummed and hushed her, telling her to let the tears flow.

And as Arya did these things she thought back and wondered. Had she ever shed any real tears for her father. Tears like this at least? She was never the type to cry when frustrated or sad, that was more Sansa. She wondered how many emotions she shoved down deep within her before the Faceless Men ever got a hold of her. How many things had she ignored, or taken for anger simply for the ease of it. In comforting this young girl she felt…deeply and sorrowfully hollow.

Eventually the maester came, apologizing for taking a moment to get there. He looked over Elenna, declaring that she would need to be woken up every hour the first night she slept to make sure she didn’t get stuck sleeping. Arya had a familiarity with it, considering her own fate after the battle with the dead. She promised to keep an eye on the girl. The maester also helped Arya clean and stitch herself back together. He said he would come back to check on them again after tending to the worst of the soldiers who came back from the city. Arya agreed and was left alone in the tent with a sleeping Elenna.

She took then to really look at the inside of Gendry’s tent. There was yellow and black everywhere, stags carved into the wood of the table in the center of the room, and the chairs had antlers on the backs. There were furs on the ground and candles scattered around the space. It was nice. Her imagination took hold; she saw the space in grays with dire wolves instead of stags, and she wondered if this is what Robb’s tent had looked like. She felt a sting in her eyes, and for once in her life didn’t try to fight it back. If any time or place was appropriate to allow true feeling to take hold, she thought it must be now.

And of course, _of course_ while she let the tears track down her face, the tent flap shifted and Gendry walked through. He didn’t seem too surprised to see her there, clearly the soldiers had told him. Instead of collecting herself back together, his presence did the opposite for Arya. She choked out his name, standing from the side of the bed where she was perched, and walked straight to him. She didn’t know how he would feel to see her after the last time, but she knew how _she_ felt. Arya had planned to never see him again. She had planned to die in the city, but he was right there. Healthy and whole. He was here, he was here, he was _here_.

She stumbled into his chest and his arms wrapped immediately and tightly around her. Arya let out a loud, choking sob and every little thought or feeling she’d held back the whole day rushed out of her. She was finally safe in his arms. He would never let anyone touch her, and she felt her walls crumble like Kings Landing’s had.

She had almost died. She had almost _died_.

It was his turn to whisper quiet platitudes and hush the crying girl. His large hand cupped the back of her head firmly to him.

“I’m sorry,” she choked out. “I’m sorry, I’m _so_ sorry. I love you. _I love you_ , I’m sorry.”

She felt Gendry’s breath hitch for a moment, then he held her tighter. “It’s alright, love,” he whispered against her head, pressing a kiss to her temple. Then another one to the top of her head. Arya pulled away and his hand moved to her cheek.

“I wanted to die,” she confessed. “I was _going_ to die. That’s why I left. That’s why I said—that’s why.”

He pulled her to him, pressing the softest kiss to her forehead, and then resting his against hers. “I never should have asked like that. I was drunk, and all I knew was I wanted to see you. I had been given a lordship and I was finally worthy of you—”

“You were always worthy of me.”

“I know,” he kissed her nose. “I know you hate being called a lady, and I still asked you.”

“I’m not a lady,” she repeated.

“Arya,” he said softly, with tenderness in his voice and fondness in his eyes. “Arya, my love, you are a lady. Maybe you aren’t a lady like your sister is a lady, but you are _the_ most highborn person I’ve ever met. Hear me out,” he said when she started to pull away. “You parade around encampments that aren’t yours, full of men who aren’t your men, and you declare yourself Arya of House Stark and demand to be shown to the lord’s tent. You have a Valyrian steal dagger, and you tell me I ‘don’t know any other rich girls’. Then you demand that I make you a weapon of your own, _before_ I finish any of the ones I was actually tasked to make.

“You push me and you kiss me. And you avoid a feast half thrown in your honor. Do you remember,” he continued. “When you told me how you got back in to Winterfell? You demanded the guards take you to the lady of the keep. You’re kind, but you’re irreverent. You never hesitate to correct or threaten anyone… Arya, you are the _epitome_ of a highborn lady, even if you don’t like to wear dresses. I don’t know who jammed it in your head that you aren’t a lady in nature and in name, but do you _honestly think_ a lowborn girl could get away with half of what you do?”

Arya hesitated. She never had it laid out like that before. She supposed that _no_ a lowborn girl would never have gotten away with speaking as brazenly to Tywin Lannister as she had, or with riding through the northern encampment the way she did the day before. She was wild and untraditional, like she had to be to survive, but she did expect her name to carry some weight, the same way Sansa did. Maybe…maybe she was a lady. Maybe she could be her own sort.

“I never thought of it that way,” she whispered.

Gendry smiled softly, and finally, _finally_ kissed her gently on the mouth. “I didn’t think you had,” he said.

He looked over at Elenna, asleep beneath his furs, and back to Arya. “Who’s this?”

“Elenna,” she replied. “I found her and her mother in the city during… Her mother’s dead. She asked me to keep Elenna safe.”

“What are you going to do with her?”

“I don’t know,” Arya admitted. “Keep her with me until she figures out where she wants to go.”

Gendry looked at her seriously. “What if she never wants to go.”

Arya considered that. “Then I suppose she’ll be my ward.”

“Alright,” Gendry said. He took in Arya’s dirt and dust covered clothing that lay near the table in the center of the tent, and the still dirty small clothes she wore. “Have you rested?”

“Not yet,” she said. “I don’t know if I’ll be able to.”

“You should try, at least,” he walked to his trunk, noticing it already opened. “Did you go through my clothes?”

“Elenna needed something to sleep in.”

He laughed, “Well, take another shirt for yourself so you won’t be in those. I’ll stay with you both while you rest and wake you up if anything happens.”

“Gendry,” she began, moving back to his side. “Thank you… And before in Winterfell, I—”

“Don’t worry about it,” he cut in.

“No, Gendry,” she said. “I should have _told_ you, explained, but I didn’t. I’m sorry. You should…you should ask me again. Now that I’m not planning to die.”

“What?”

“Ask me again, stupid.”

His eyes widened and he stared at her. Probably trying to find any doubt or hesitation or sign that she’d regret this. He wouldn’t.

“What,” she joked. “Have you changed your mind already?”

“No, of course not,” Gendry sputtered. He took a breath to gather himself. “Arya—Arry. I meant everything I said the last time. Lordship would’ve been so meaningless without you right by my side, whispering jokes about all the prissy highborns and showing girls they can be whatever they want. I love you. I know now that I probably _could_ do this alone, but I don’t want to. Marry me and be the Lady of Storms End. Whatever kind of lady that you already are, no frills, no needlepoint, no expectations. Just you and me. Be my family.”

Arya teared up again, those words pulling her right back into the cave so long ago. As if her answer now could rewrite all the wrongs done to them. “You’re already my family,” she promised. “Of course I will.”

Gendry’s eyes lit up, then his face, and then his whole body—as if it were hit by lightening—jolted forwards to lift her into the air. He rained kisses on her face, jaw, neck, and he whispered ‘I love you’s into her skin. She felt her heart contort with how much joy poured out of him and into her, and how this should have been what happened the first time. She barred him this happiness and she was so, so stupid for it. She even barred herself the purest feeling of light filling her chest from the warmth of his quiet laughter. Had she really planned to live without this? Stupid, stupid girl.

He put her back down, and she immediately kissed him. It didn’t last long since the both of them were fighting back smiles, but Arya reckoned it was the best kiss they’d ever shared.

She did end up crawling into the other side of his bed and burrowing under the furs there. Elenna must have been a heavy sleeper to not wake a peep to the noise of before. Arya let Gendry know to wake the girl every hour or so and to get the maester if anything seemed wrong. Then Arya rested her head on an actual pillow for the first time in weeks and fell into a deep dreamless sleep.

The next few days went by in a blur.

Arya stole Elenna clothes from an abandoned house just inside the city walls the following morning, and the girl never left her side. When they were all summoned to Daenarys’ victory speech, the girl was stoically behind her—hair twisted into a simple Northern braid. Gendry was beside her on foot, with Davos on horseback with the Stormlander forces. They listened as Daenarys called for liberation of all cities, and Arya’s stomach turned into a stone and dropped.

She wouldn’t stop. It would never end. She had what she wanted, but still more people would die. Arya looked to Elenna at her side and made the Many Faced God one last promise. The gift of a life. She didn’t know if it would be her hand to deliver it, but she knew if Death had this name…he would receive it. Arya hadn’t killed Cersei herself, but Death had been promised the Mad Queen for years and Death took her.

Arya found Jon after the speech, and wove some words the way she saw Little Finger weave. She felt a little dirty about manipulating her brother in that way, but knew it had to be done. He had to hear it, and he had to contemplate what it meant. She would not be a bearer of death anymore. If no one else would do it, she undoubtedly would, but something told her this was not her life, though it was her promise.

Then they were arresting Jon for killing the Queen.

The Great Lords of Westeros were all summoned to Kings Landing to figure out who would take her place, and how to punish Jon and Tyrion for their treason. In the time it took for every Great House to make their way down south, Arya seated herself firmly in the Stormlander’s good graces.

Ser Davos spent more time with Gendry acting as an advisor, when he couldn’t be visiting Jon. Arya made it her mission to learn all of the names of the soldiers in the encampment, and inquired after their lives every day. Elenna tailed her about and so too became adored as Arya did as well. Arya found a way in those weeks to be more herself than she had been in a while, but still felt drawn to fall into that quiet, aloof persona from time to time.

The stormlanders that filled up the camp began to refer to her as the Lady of Storms End, as news of her betrothal to Gendry spread. They were waiting until Arya’s family had arrived to officially go and be wed in the godswood. The stormlanders didn’t see much difference in the before and after of it, the lord and lady shared a tent every night. They both took care of the young girl who was always with them, and who had her own bed made up in Gendry’s tent. They were as good as married already to their people.

Elenna was unofficially the Lord and Lady’s ward, as she was seen learning to sword fight from Lady Arya and learning to read with Lord Baratheon. The both of them moving through the lessons Ser Davos gave them at the same speed. Elenna was a quick study on most things, and learned cards from the soldiers and watched while they did drills in the mornings. She was constantly underfoot and had a lust for learning all things in a way that make Gendry achingly nostalgic. He constantly wondered what kind of fate it was that the one girl Arya managed to pull out of the wreckage was just her double.

Soon enough the Great Houses did arrive, and everyone was summoned to the Dragon Pit to do politics. When Arya arrived with House Baratheon and sat with the Storm Lords—Elenna by her side—she caught the confused look of her sister. Sansa looked over the black clothes she wore, and it struck Arya how purposeful her golden detailed weapons and dark clothing would look in this situation. But with one glance at the three claw marks on Gendry’s shoulders set her resolve. Let these lords think what they will. Arya was Gendry’s and Gendry was hers. She sat proudly in the Lady’s seat.

The council meeting came and went, Arya threatened a few people, and Bran was elected king—which was very shocking to say the least. Jon was to be sent to the Nights Watch as soon as a ship could be procured to go there. The North and the Iron Island were independent kingdoms, though the Iron Islands still seemed to be included in the Six Kingdoms the way Dorne was. Arya wondered if that was truly satisfying for Yara, but she put up no fight, so it must have been.

Eventually, as it had to, the meeting ended and everyone began to either mill around and speak pleasantries, or leave for home. Arya wanted to leave the cursed, bloody city as fast as her feet could carry her, but knew she had to stay for just a little while longer.

Sansa approached her, Gendry, and Elenna, looking the three of them over with interest. She gave Gendry a polite nod when he dutifully bowed at her. She was a queen now, though Arya couldn’t see herself showing much deference to her own sister.

“Lord Baratheon, Arya,” Sansa greeted. “And who’s this?”

Elenna immediately dropped into a slightly sloppy curtsey, stumbling a little on the way. “My name is Elenna, your grace.”

“And where are you from, Elenna?” Sansa asked, kindly.

“A small farmstead a short distance away, milady.”

“Do you have a last name, sweet-one?” Arya shot Sansa a warning glance at the question, but before she could dodge it, Gendry spoke up.

“Waters, your grace,” he said. “Arya and I are looking after her for now. She’s our little underfoot.” He shot a small smile to Elenna, dropping his hand to the top of her head in a way that reminded Arya achingly of Eddard Stark.

Sansa hummed, eyes sparking on the word ‘our,’ but leaving it be for the moment.

“Why don’t you go find Ser Davos,” Arya suggested. “See if he’ll give you a tour of the

Pits. I have to speak with my sister.”

“Yes, milady,” Elenna said, bobbing another curtsy to Sansa as she left. “Your grace.”

As soon as Elenna was out of ear shot, Sansa turned quickly back to Gendry. “You’ll forgive me, Lord Baratheon, but I wasn’t aware you even _knew_ my sister. Let alone well enough to be claiming a child together.”

“I, uh—” Gendry stuttered. “I’ve known her for years, mil- _my_ lady.”

“Is that so?” Sansa quirked her head.

“I met him the day father died,” Arya cut in. “It’s a long story, but we traveled for a while. We kept each other safe. He asked me to be the Lady of Storms End. I said yes. I love him.”

There was a brief moment of silence before Sansa began to laugh, truly laugh for maybe the first time since she and Arya had reunited. Her whole face lit up again, and the years of pain melted away. Sansa looked her age again. She really was a great beauty, as everyone said.

“If our parents could see you now,” she chortled. “Especially mother—they would not believe their eyes. Septa might’ve fainted,” she laughed again, softer. “I’m happy for the both of you. When do you plan to have the wedding?”

“Soon,” Arya said. “Before everyone leaves Kings Landing again. We wanted to wait until you were all here, but not much longer than that if we can.”

“That’s quick, but fair,” Sansa nodded. “Had you planned anything out?”

“Well,” she glanced at Gendry who seemed all too happy to let her take the wheel. “I was hoping you or Jon could give me away, and Bran could officiate. In the godswood, if it’s still intact.”

“It is.”

They all jumped, not having seen Brienne roll Bran over to them. He was distant as always, but there was a slightly familiar glint in his eye, like he was laughing at getting the jump on all of them. Especially Arya. She would scold herself, but with Gendry at her side and Sansa at her front, she let her guard drop lower than it ever had been. She knew this group would watch her back. The ability to trust like that again was refreshing.

Sansa smiled. “Good, then we should be able to get it all set in two days time.”

“Set what, my lady?” Brienne asked.

“A wedding,” Sansa said, with more of her childhood glee returning. Arya would regret it, if she weren’t so happy to see some of that innocence back in her sister.

And when Sansa said she could have everything set in two days, she meant it. Gendry and Arya barely had to lift a finger for any of it. The word of the quick wedding spread through the assembled lords and ladies, and soon enough everyone was finding something to do. Gendry assured Arya that their interest was merely so they’d all have a distraction from the horrors of the past few months. But nevertheless, things were accomplished quickly.

Sansa took Arya’s cloak with her that evening, and gave it back the following day with just the tiniest hint of gold trimming the edges. She also spent an hour that day speaking with Ser Davos on procuring a cloak for Gendry. They managed to find one that he had packed away in his trunk, and Sansa set to fixing up that one the same evening as Arya’s. When that came back, there was a scene of a stag chasing a wolf along the bottom most edge of the fabric. Gendry had stared at it, and Arya thought she might have seen the slightest welling of tears in his eyes.

Somewhere, somehow Davos had even found a dress for Elenna of a pretty soft yellow, and Sansa twisted her hair into a beautiful northern style Arya could never hope to replicate. Her uncle Edmure’s wife made alterations to Elenna’s dress all day, and provided her some more finery to “not look too out of place.” Arya ignored the snub, but was viciously unrepentant for a moment about the Frey blood on her hands. Elenna was her pack, and would look just fine whatever she wore.

When it actually came time to make their way to the godswood, Arya felt nearly sick with nerves. She didn’t want to go back through the ruined city. She didn’t want to see the melted walls of the Red Keep. She could tell Elenna wanted it even less, her face gone pale and gaunt. Gendry looked even worse. Every corner they turned it was like another piece of him died. The city had been cleaned some in the past month since it burned, but it was slow going. Bran could only fund so much at a time, and he was focusing his clean up on the poorest parts of the city first.

They finally made their way through it all, Arya seeing the ghosts of her past through every empty doorframe and broken window. But eventually they reached the godswood, and everyone separated out. Arya’s uncle and cousin and their lords walked off to the heart tree, Bran behind with his Kings Guard. Gendry stayed back for a moment to press a kiss to her cheek and then joined them. Elenna went with him and the Lords of the Stormlands to stand on his side.

Sansa turned to Arya, squeezed her shoulders, and made to leave.

“Where are you going?” Arya yelped, reaching out to stop her sister.

“To watch, Arya, _honestly_ ,” she rolled her eyes fondly.

“Who’s going to give me away?”

“Jon will,” Sansa motioned behind her. Arya turned and there were Jon and Tyrion being led in by Podrick. The latter two kept walking into the godswood to join everyone, but Jon stayed at Arya’s side with his arm out. She pushed it aside and threw herself at him for a hug.

“Good to see you breathing,” she whispered to his shoulder.

“I could say the same to you,” he replied.

They stood for a moment longer; then Jon turned, offering his arm again. “Shall we?”

Arya took it, leaning into his side. The walk to the heart tree felt long, but instead of the dread she’d imagined throughout her childhood, Arya felt nothing but building joy. She was going to be married, yes, but it was to someone she had chosen all on her own and who had chosen her back. They were going to be equals. They were going to learn to take care of a bastard, orphan girl and an entire region. She chose to live.

“I didn’t know you two had met,” Jon whispered in her ear as they rounded the bend to the tree.

“I’ve known him half my life,” Arya whispered back, taking in the view in front of her.

The godswood was packed full of lords and ladies she not only knew, but respected. Some of the new friends she’d made in the Baratheon camp were standing proudly near the front of Gendry’s side. Elenna looked precious in her little yellow dress with her grey cloak, fitting in with Ser Davos right next to her. Sansa and Brienne stood nearest the front on her side, and she was _sure_ she could see tears in both their eyes. Bran looked placidly outwards. But the real marvel was Gendry himself. He looked gorgeous in his fancy Baratheon leathers, adorned with bits of gold and Stark grey the way her leathers were. The darkness of his doublet brought out the blue of his eyes, and she was taken aback again by just how handsome he was.

She had heard the comparisons before that he looked just like his king father, but Arya never paid them much head. The Robert she had known was a drunk and a lecher. No matter how similar the physical characteristics, her Gendry would never be the same. If the worst he did when he was drunk was propose to her, Arya supposed she could have a worse life.

The actual ceremony went by faster than Arya would have ever believed one could go. She supposed she’d worked herself up into thinking they’d all drag on, her own especially, but it was a welcome surprise to learn otherwise. Gendry’s smile was all she cared to see when he cloaked her, and the feel of his lips on hers was all she cared to know. And then they were wed and it was time for the part of the whole thing Arya was most excited for: the party.

It wasn’t truly going to be a wedding party like Sansa wanted her to have, and couldn’t be since much of the Red Keep was still in shambles. But they had cleared out what used to be the throne room and brought in tables that had managed to survive the carnage. The food was what little they could scrounge up, and the wine was directly from Cersei’s private store. Somehow they managed to have a decent enough meal and drinks for everyone who had cared to attend. Gendry had taken it all in with a strange look before taking Arya aside and wondering if they could somehow give any leftovers to the inhabitants of the city. It was a good idea, so they did.

It was wonderful to be with her family—her _whole_ family—again. She had only felt the ghosts of her past on her way in to the city, but now Arya could almost smell her father’s leathers, hear the way Robb had laughed at her in Winterfell, feel her mother’s fingers through her hair when she was sick, and see Rickon in the curve of Sansa’s face. Her family was just as with her as they ever were before, if she’d thought enough to look for them here. Kings Landing was a burning heap of torn families and nasty plots, but it was also the last place Arya had heard her father laugh. It was the place she’d met Gendry. There could be good things in dark places, she thought.

Elenna was the excuse they made to end the party a little early. She was young still, and neither Gendry nor Arya really wanted to spend the night in the Red Keep. They left, after Arya held Jon tightly to her for a few minutes more, and made their way back to the Baratheon camp. In the morning they would all make their way home, and Arya would find herself in her new life. Sansa had offered to come with her for a bit to make sure everything was in line, and Arya had nearly accepted. But the North needed a Stark in Winterfell.

When they neared their tent, Elenna nearly asleep on Davos’ horse, the knight cleared his throat. “Mayhaps I’ll bring the girl to rest in my tent for the night?” he shot a meaningful look between Gendry and Arya.

“That would be for the best,” Gendry said, slowly going pink in the cheeks.

It _was_ for the best.

The next morning, Arya was ready quite early to make one last travel into Kings Landing to bid her family goodbye. Gendry offered to come along, but this had to be just her and her siblings. She wanted him there for everything else, but maybe not while she cried like a little girl again.

The tears didn’t quite make it all the way out when she finally did say goodbye, but the effort of walking out of Kings Landing and seeing her sister ride off north, knowing she wouldn’t, hurt. It hurt just the tiniest bit. But then she thought about the reverse; if she’d been leaving with her sister and Gendry stayed behind. That hurt more and that’s how she knew, more truly than anything else, she’d made the right choice.

“We should bring Hot Pie on in the kitchens,” Arya said after nearly a days ride south.

Gendry looked at her, startled, “What got you thinking of Hot Pie?”

“Who’s Hot Pie?” Elenna asked from her small brown mare just behind Arya’s.

“A good friend from when we were children,” Gendry replied absently.

“I thought of a warm cooked meal when we get to Storms End,” she said. “Hot Pie always makes the best food.”

He seemed to consider that, before responding to her original point. “You don’t know what the kitchens are like in Storms End. They might not need the extra body.”

“Are they better than Hot Pie?”

“…No.”

“Then we should bring him on,” she concluded. “He’s gotten even better. He’d shape up that kitchen, I’m sure.”

“How do you know he’s gotten better?” Gendry asked.

“Because I’ve seen him.”

“You’ve seen him?”

“Yes.”

“When?”

“Just before coming to Winterfell,” Arya smiled slightly at the memory. “He gave me tips on baking pies.”

Gendry promised to think about it. They finally came close enough to Storms End that Arya could smell the sea without the stink of shit clouding it. She was very excited to be able to get off of the horse. She loved the white mare that had saved her from Kings Landing, but gods she wanted to walk on her own.

They came to the gate where two guards nodded to the banners flying behind them and gave calls of “My lord,” as they let the horses past. They eyed Arya and Elenna strangely, taking in the Stark colors of the leathers she wore and the obvious plainness of Elenna’s clothes. Arya didn’t worry much; they would know who she was soon enough.

The whole party dismounted, handing the horses off to stable hands, and Arya was suddenly struck by the immensity of Storms End. The castle was huge on its own, but the main tower was wide and shot into the sky above it. It didn’t look like home the way that Winterfell did, but it looked sturdy. Well looked after. Dependable. She supposed she needed some of that in her life after the past years of adventures, and Elenna deserved some of that sturdiness after knowing nothing but war her whole life.

Elenna stepped up beside Arya, jaw slack. “You live here now?”

“ _We_ live here now,” she corrected.

“I get to live here, too?” Elenna looked even more shocked. Arya glanced at Gendry, who just nodded for her to go ahead. The unhelpful idiot.

“We never discussed it,” Arya began. “But, if you have nowhere else you want to go or see, we could take you on as our ward. You would live in Storms End, and you would be family in all but name. We would find someone to train you in whatever you want to become, and if you ever want to leave, you’re free to go. Would you like that?”

Elenna looked between her and Gendry. She didn’t say anything for a moment, and then catapulted herself into Arya’s arms. “Yes, I would like that.” Gendry began to chuckle, but Elenna’s hand shot out lightening quick and pulled him into the hug as well.

It had been a while since Arya had held anyone but Gendry or her siblings. Holding Elenna felt right, though. She felt like family too. Arya could hear Davos’ soft laughter in the background as he waited for them to be finished before following along inside. The hug finished and nobody said anything about how all three of their eyes were suspiciously wet. Joy was so hard to find these days, and no one wanted to point at it for fear of jinxing something.

The new, small family entered Storms End with Davos at their heels, finally home.

**Author's Note:**

> I had a lot of feelings about those last couple episodes, and it took me almost a whole year to formulate the many plot bunnies I had. 
> 
> I may turn this into a series if I can't help myself, but for now it's just this.


End file.
